


Caught up in the Afterglow

by woojinblooms (halbermarco)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, I tried to include everyone at least once, Late Night Conversations, Lee Minho | Lee Know is Whipped, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of all the other Kids, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 20:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19875700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halbermarco/pseuds/woojinblooms
Summary: What happens when one Han Jisung is having a nightmare, demands bedtime stories and Lee Minho is too in love with him to object.Or, in which Lee Minho is whipped for Han Jisung and I am whipped for Lee Minho, but that is beside the point.





	Caught up in the Afterglow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [forbaltimore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/forbaltimore/gifts).



> so, this is a birthday gift to one of my best friends, whose birthday is a month away, but she got me into stray kids (because i had to do subtle research about minsung and asked her a lot of questions, which led me to watching _a lot_ of youtube videos about them and stray kids, and well yeah, turns out, i love stray kids' music now) so because i am very impatient and just love how this turned out, she's getting it a month early.
> 
> And because I thought it was too good not to share it, stays: have some gay stray kids (one of whom is exactly eight months younger than i am)
> 
> title is from Afterglow by All Time Low (I really recommend you check it out)
> 
> Disclaimer: of course i don’t have any rights to say or imply anything about someone’s identity or relationships, especially of those i do not even know personally. which is why, usually, i do not write about real people, as it can be seen as an invasion of their privacy. in this case, however, i saw it as an exploration of their personalities and how well they can work together. i liked working with minho’s savageness and jisung’s confidence, and i hope i got their personalities right. 
> 
> Lara, wenn du das liest, ich hoffe, ich kann dir damit dein Leben bereichern. Ich hatte sehr viel Freude, die beiden kennenzulernen und über sie zu schreiben, weshalb ich auch so viele Anspielungen wie möglich eingebaut habe. Hab dich sehr lieb, ich hoffe, es ist wirklich das beste Geburtstagsgeschenk, das ich dir jemals gegeben habe.

Even with the generous gift of hindsight, Minho does not quite remember a time when he and Jisung have not been as close as they are now.

The very first time they met, introduced to each other by shared friends on a night out at the karaoke bar, they had gotten along so splendidly well that one might have assumed they had known each other for an entire lifetime before meeting in this one. Something in Minho had told him he was somehow destined to meet Han Jisung; because talking to him, joking with him, _touching_ him – although Minho was confident in his affections towards all of his friends, this stranger Han Jisung had made it seem like the most natural thing to do right from the beginning.

Days afterwards, Minho’s mind had involuntarily jumped to the _red string of fate_ ; a story about a strong connection between souls, tangible via a red string supposedly wrapped around your pinky and the person with whom you are sharing the bond. Minho had heard so many tales about it.

If Minho concentrated hard enough, he thought he could actually see it sometimes, and it has not once surprised him that he would always imagine it in Jisung’s presence. Though maybe that is just wishful thinking – he tends to do more of that whenever he is around Jisung.

Which, shortly after their initial introduction, came to be quite a lot of times.

At first, Minho had found it odd to run into Jisung so frequently. In fact, their paths crossed many times in their weekly routines, this fact having gone unnoticed for so long because they simply were not aware of the other – a circumstance which, aside from everything else that came with this newly struck friendship, had changed so drastically and easily that neither man minded or objected to it. On the contrary, they embraced it like they so often did each other.

Now, whenever Minho had been on his way home from dance practice every Wednesday evening, his body buzzing with the warm pleasure and pride which usually came after a thorough workout, he had begun to meet Jisung at the entrance of his dancing school – a building which housed several vocal instructors as well, one of whom had given lessons to Jisung twice a week. Although they did not take the same train home, then – as each lived in the opposite directions of the stop – the almost ten-minute-walk to the station had been far better spent in deep conversation with Jisung, rather than with his headphones on, no matter how great his taste in music was. When, at times, their hands had been brushing as they walked so close together, and other times they had taken ahold of each other’s hands and did not let go until they absolutely had to, well – then that was just the nature of their friendship.

Before long, movie nights with their friends had become something Minho looked forward to more so than usual. The prospect of seeing Jisung again – no matter how many times they had already seen each other that particular week – never failed to light a quiet little fire within Minho’s heart, one that could not be quelled unless he and Jisung curled up together to watch whatever movie had been picked out. They had been a tight-knit group as it was, and with now nine of them, it had been only logical that they would all sit in close proximity to each other and, of course, touch. It had been the perfect excuse for Minho to tackle Jisung to the sofa and proceed to spoon him every time, arms snaking around his tiny waist. Jisung would always make an effort to escape him at first, squirming in Minho’s loose grip.

(Minho never wished to make Jisung feel trapped, and though he definitely clung to him, he made sure to let Jisung go if he was not in the mood for Minho’s touch.)

(Jisung would, on almost every occasion, cease his squirming eventually, and settle against Minho’s chest with an exasperated sigh.)

These days, even after years of knowing Jisung, Minho sometimes wonders what it is that makes them so comfortable – so _compatible_ – with each other. Minho is a person who does not easily trust people he has only just met – but he had never been like that with Jisung.

Jisung joked once that they had to be soulmates; that there was no other explanation as to why they understood each other better than anyone else. With the way Jisung had laughed as he said it, how was Minho supposed to argue with him?

Not that he even wanted to, though he felt compelled – out of a strange, twisted sense of guilt – to clarify that he did not mean it as a playful remark in the slightest – to him, the words rang true to a terrifying degree, one that still scares Minho to death sometimes. When he had put on a grin of his own instead and agreed with his best friend – because that is what they have become over all these years, best friends – Minho had never before been so dishonest with Jisung.

To Minho, soulmates do not need to have a romantic connection to be considered soulmates. Should they exist, Minho is convinced that they can span from the familial bond to intimate friendships as well as romantic relationships, with neither connection valued as something more or less fulfilling than the other. If anything, Minho’s own relationship to Jisung is proof of this – he is perfectly content staying friends with Jisung, many times even mind-blowingly so.

Other times, however. Other times, Minho is mind-blowingly discontent with just that.

Tonight, for example, happens to be one such instance. What Minho does not know in the beginning is that it would be a very, very long night indeed.

Minho, Chan, Hyunjin and Felix are still at the dance studio practicing and perfecting one of Minho’s latest choreographies, when suddenly, in strides Han Jisung mid-session, with the utmost confidence and swagger one would expect from him. He immediately starts to insert himself into the dance, mimicking their moves as best as he can – Jisung is not strictly a dancer, not in the sense that Minho is, but seeing as he is gifted at practically everything, he does manage an impressive imitation of the other four.

Soon enough however, the group around Jisung disbands, as there is no use to practice further with Jisung joining into a set not meant for five people. So, the four of them simply watch Jisung do a sort of freestyle continuation of Minho’s choreography. Minho has seen Jisung dance like this before, and although Jisung clearly knows how to move his body (and how to move his body _well_ ), once he realizes that he is the center of attention, Jisung will, sooner or later and without the shadow of a doubt, end his glorious and extravagant freestyle performance by dropping his entire body onto the floor in the most inelegant way possible. As is the case today.

It is a pity, really, that none of the four other dancers in the room are as impressed with Jisung’s usual antics as the man himself happens to be. Minho has to suppress a smirk as Jisung just stares up at them with those big, quizzical eyes, chest heaving from physical exertion. He is openly wondering at the lack of a reaction at what he must have believed to be one of his greater presentations. To experience anything less than thunderous applause must be disastrous for Jisung’s ego.

“Oh, come on,” Jisung eventually complains, as Minho expected he would, and he rises to his feet. “I know I’m no dance legend like Minho over here, but I thought I gave you quite the show.”

Now, Minho truly cannot stop the grin from spreading. Hyunjin rolls his eyes with a fond smile and turns away, while Chan gives Jisung a friendly pat on the back.

“Maybe next time, you can wait with your _show_ until after we’ve finished practicing,” Chan reprimands him, in that leader voice of his that always has them in a weird place of knowing that Chan may not be disappointed in them, but they still feel like they let one of their oldest and (debatably) wisest friends down.

Chan continues, grinning at Minho, “Our Minho really outdid himself this time.” Chan slings an arm around Minho’s shoulder. “Not that I expected anything less from a future star choreographer.”

Before Minho can properly react to the praise given by Chan, Jisung opens his arms and closes the distance between Minho and him, making Chan laugh for the abruptness of it all as he walks away. Jisung hugs Minho tight enough to lift him into the air for a second, and Minho lets out a surprised giggle.

“You’re so talented, hyung,” Jisung grins at him as Minho’s feet touch the ground again. Now, Minho is not one to blush easily – though, as is always the case with Jisung, exceptions to the rule are made without Minho having any say in it. So, with pink-colored cheeks, Minho grins back at Jisung and nuzzles his nose with his own before putting some distance between them.

Which means that their touch is merely reduced to Minho’s hand holding Jisung’s.

“The others helped me out a lot,” Minho then says, a bit louder so his friends could hear it, too, even on the other side of the room packing their bags. “It’s one thing to work on a choreography in your head all by yourself, being able to try it out with you guys is what I needed to perfect it. Thank you so much.”

Chan offers him a warm smile, which makes Minho add, “Especially you, Chan, I know how busy you are these days. Thank you for doing this.”

“Absolutely no problem, Minho,” Chan assures him. Felix heartily agrees, “Anything for you, hyung,” before waving his goodbye and leaving the dance studio, Hyunjin not too far behind him, bidding his own farewell. After Chan has embraced both Minho and Jisung, he follows his friends out as well.

For a moment, Minho stares after them with a frown of utter puzzlement, asking himself what has them leaving so suddenly. He opens his mouth to pose the question at Jisung – who already has his phone ready for show, and Minho spots the four digits of the time on the bright display.

Minho told Jisung to meet him at the entrance of the building – as per usual – at 6 pm.

It is now 6:25 pm.

“Oh,” says Minho and Jisung laughs. “I didn’t even realize, I’m sorry for making you wait, Sungie.”

Jisung just squeezes his hand. “ _I’m_ sorry for crashing practice like that. Though, in all fairness, it looked too good not to join in.”

“If you want, I could show it to you…” Minho suggests, raising his eyebrows at Jisung.

Jisung hums thoughtfully, making a show of his consideration by tapping a finger against his chin and narrowing his eyes. “Tempting,” he begins in a light voice, “It’s not every day that the world’s best choreographer and dance teacher himself offers to give you an exclusive introduction to his latest dance…” (Minho rolls his eyes at the dramatic inflection of Jisung’s voice.) “ _But_ you promised me food and a movie tonight, so I’d much rather get started on that.”

Minho snorts softly and, slowly, reluctantly, dislodges his fingers from Jisung. “I did promise you that.” Minho walks over to the mirror, at the bottom of which his bag is waiting to be picked up.

“Where do you wanna go eat?” Jisung asks, innocently enough. “I heard there’s this new place around the corner of your apartment that’s pretty good, we could try that.”

“Do they allow animals in there?” Minho asks, schooling his face into a serious expression. His attempts to keep it straight are made nearly impossible endeavors when Jisung regards him with wide eyes full of confusion.

“Huh? How do you mean?”

In a flat tone, Minho only replies, “I’m going with you, Jisungie. I can’t possibly bring you to a restaurant where they don’t even allow squirrels. We’d be thrown out before we could order beverages.”

In the moment of stark silence that follows, Jisung gapes at him in astonishment, so, of course, Minho comes towards him to pinch his right cheek.

“Close your mouth, squirrel, or I’ll tell everyone to start calling you ‘fish’, too,” Minho threatens in a teasing tone, exiting the dance studio in what he hopes to be a casual yet confident stride. He can hear Jisung curse loudly behind him and finally starts laughing.

“Oh my God, Lee Minho, you—”

The fact of the matter is, quite plainly, that Minho is aware of how much he loves Jisung in a way he probably should not – that is, the romantic, definitely not solely platonic sort of way. He is so aware of it, in fact, every emotion he has thus far experienced with Jisung, has all but increased in its intensity. And Minho, not knowing what else to do, simply goes along with it.

So what if he likes to kiss Jisung’s cheek whenever he feels like it?

So what if he clings onto Jisung for as long as Jisung would let him?

It is not as though Jisung does not act the same, or – a horrific thought – dislikes Minho’s touch and keeps his distance whenever Minho would initiate it. After all, Jisung is a naturally touchy person, and so is Minho, all of his other friends can attest to that – especially Jeongin, the poor child.

So, them cuddling, for example, holds no more value than they would allow – and since they are friends, its value comes down to the unique intimacy between them. It is different from anything Minho has with anyone else and remains the deepest form of any sort of love Minho is ever going to experience in his life.

And yet, despite its fulfilling qualities, Minho wishes.

Minho wishes with a desperation. That maybe one day, Jisung will consider something _other_ than friendship.

The movie they decided on was some horror movie or another. Minho thinks, with an absent mind, that he might have seen it once before – he had let Jisung choose, anyway. It is a mystery to Minho how Jisung could stomach some of these movies, although by now, Minho has watched quite the amount of them with Jisung. Usually, Jisung scares so easily that even a bag full of – very harmless and perfectly ordinary – clothing items could make him jump out of his skin.

Not horror movies, though.

Horror movies tend to end with Jisung curling up to Minho as close as humanly possible – and Jisung is a rather strong-willed individual, so nothing will be beyond his capabilities if he tries hard enough (or, stubbornly persists for long enough).

As a result of that – and because habits are tough to break, especially if you do not want to break them, at all – tonight is no different in that aspect. The true oddity of the evening does not start in a particularly spectacular manner, either; but at some point, it just so happens that Jisung falls asleep. Right there, in Minho’s arms, in the middle of a movie where one of the main characters has an affinity for loud, child-like screams of terror.

Minho has the urge to scream, too. For entirely different reasons.

His heart flutters at the thought of Jisung being comfortable enough with him to fall asleep.

Oh, who is Minho kidding here? His heart flutters at the thought of Jisung, _period_. And with Jisung’s head resting against his chest, right above where Minho’s heart should be, Minho would not be surprised if Jisung woke up from all the hammering.

No matter how much he may enjoy this domestic bliss of their cuddling, Minho knows it cannot last forever. But even after the movie has ended and Minho is stuck watching a compilation of the darkest and most suspenseful scenes on loop in the menu, Minho finds he is decidedly unwilling to move a single inch. For a moment – just as a black silhouette is looming dangerously over their first victim for the umpteenth time – Minho considers staying where he is and giving in to the grips of sleep that have been clawing at him ever since the credits had started to roll.

Nonetheless, neither of them would appreciate the kinks in their necks in the morning should they remain on the sofa, and only Minho can make certain that they would end up in bed.

“Jisung?” Minho shifts underneath his weight, so that Minho has his arms around Jisung’s shoulders now. Against all hopes of Jisung waking up just from the movement, all he does is stir for a second, burrowing his head into Minho’s neck.

Minho cannot help but wonder why whatever deity watching him has to torture him so much.

To make matters worse, Minho soon feels an additional live weight on his feet. Upon checking what it is, he sees one of his cats, Dori, has curled up and decided to go to sleep right on top of them.

Now he has not only one but _two_ very lovely living beings he really, really, _really_ does not wish to wake up.

He gives a great sigh of exhaustion. What has he done to deserve this?

In the gentlest manner Minho can manage, he places his hands on either of Jisung’s shoulders and shakes him, murmuring his name until he finally opens his eyes, and Minho stops. Jisung looks up at him with half-lidded eyes, eyebrows knitted together in confusion, as though he cannot fathom what could have possibly made Minho wake him up. And before Minho can oh-so-graciously provide the answer to his unasked question, Jisung reaches up to Minho’s face and pats his cheek. Minho jumps in surprise.

“Go tuh slee’, Minmin,” Jisung slurs, undeterred by Minho’s reaction, and proceeds to throw his arms around Minho, squeezing his middle as though he were a fluffy pillow rather than a human person.

“I would,” Minho chuckles, hushed voice despite himself, “but you know, as comfy as I am, my neck is going to kill me tomorrow if we don’t relocate to my bed.”

“Sounds like a tomorrow problem.”

Leave it to Jisung to still be annoying even on the verge of sleep.

Well, Minho can be annoying, too, and thus begins poking Jisung anywhere he can reach.

“Get,” _poke_ , “up,” _poke_ , “you,” _poke_ , “lazy,” _poke_ , “piece of—”

One strategically well-placed poke to the stomach and Jisung yelps. Brought into the world of the living rather harshly once again, Jisung springs up from the sofa to escape Minho’s incessant tormenting and chases away poor Dori in the process. And Minho? Well, Minho has the chance to get up and stretch _at last_.

“How dare you, Sir?!” Jisung whisper-yells, any of the outrage he is trying to portray diminished by his drowsy demeanor. “For that violation of my peace, I demand you carry me to bed.”

For all that he looks dead on his feet, Jisung still seems to find it in himself to be a drama queen – Minho almost scoffs at the pout on Jisung’s face, or he would if he was not so busy not to find it absolutely adorable. Nevertheless, all the cuteness and dramatics aside, Minho is tired and only wants to go to bed, he does not waste any more of their precious time by standing idle.

And so, after turning off the tv, he steps towards Jisung, arms held in front of his body in invitation. But when Jisung goes to reach for him in return, Minho withdraws his hands and practically _revels_ in the mildly offended expression dawning on Jisung’s face. Mirroring the fashion in which Jisung had done it earlier, Minho’s hand pats Jisung’s cheek briefly. Then, he makes sure to hold Jisung’s gaze when he carefully enunciates one very impactful syllable,

“No,”

And walks away without another word. The groan of frustration which follows accompanies Minho well into his bedroom. Eventually, it is quieted – shushed, really – when Minho’s arms sling around a narrow waist, and a final, satisfied hum can be heard in the silence of Minho’s bedroom before the two of them succumb to sleep together.

Their peace does not last.

Minho wakes with a start, a distinct sense of disorientation and the feeling that something is off about the air. As he blinks away remainders of sleep and his mind is becoming clearer, Minho realizes two things all at once;

One, it is still dark outside and only the moonlight makes it possible for Minho to see in the darkness.

And two, Jisung is not lying beside him anymore.

Needless to say that the second fact is far scarier than the first.

Minho checks his phone for the time (and feels both relieved and concerned that they still have several hours available for sleep,) before rising from the bed to search for his friend.

Although it is very likely that Jisung has gone to the bathroom, there is a tight, unpleasant knot in Minho’s stomach, something that is telling him it cannot be that simple.

His heart starts beating so hard, Minho can practically feel it climbing up in his throat, along with his staggering anxiety. His state worsens with every moment that he cannot find Jisung anywhere, not in the bathroom, or the kitchen, or even the living room where Minho’s three cats are sleeping, safe and sound and undisturbed.

“Jisung,” whispers Minho harshly into the darkness, then silence responds without mercy on Minho’s apprehensive demeanor. He tries not to jump to any conclusions just yet; he has seen Jisung’s shoes in the hallway as he passed it, and his denim jacket still lies on the armrest of Minho’s sofa, exactly where Jisung had thrown it earlier. Therefore, he could not have left the apartment at least, or else he would be either very foolish or something was seriously wrong with him.

As it turns out, when Minho finally finds him, it just so happens to be _outside_ on his balcony. Out there, Jisung is sat on the small wooden bench which makes up almost the entire space of the balcony. (There is a potted plant in the corner, inappropriately dubbed ‘Cheesecake’ by Jisung, that takes up the rest.) You could stretch out your legs a little if you wanted to, but the balcony is rarely ever used by Minho, anyway. All he does, dutiful and caring as he is, is to water ‘Cheesecake’.

And tonight, he would have a heart-to-heart there, too.

Jisung, being Jisung, startles when he hears Minho slide the glass door open. His face seems to relax when he realizes it is merely Minho who is disrupting his brooding – which, after Minho’s careful, if so minuscule, observation, he has definitely been doing – though his dark-brown eyes do not lose this distinct gleam of—

Of what exactly, Minho is incapable of deciphering on the spot. He is about to ask about it when Jisung says, “Damn, Minho. You scared me half to death.”

Minho huffs. “ _You_ scared _me_ half to death. What are you doing up?” In that moment, a cold breeze brushes Minho’s bare skin and a shiver runs through his entire body. “And what are you doing out here? It’s freezing.”

This is not strictly true – in summer, the temperature seldom drops below twenty degrees Celsius, and were it not for the wind, Minho probably would find it pleasant. But he cannot ignore his being barefoot, in no more than a t-shirt and shorts, and just because Jisung had been smart enough to throw on a sweater (one of Minho’s no less!) before venturing outside, does not necessarily make his spontaneous trip enjoyable.

“I had a nightmare. Didn’t wanna wake you,” Jisung mumbles. Then, he looks up at the sky, pointing with his finger as he continues, “And the stars are out tonight.”

Minho’s gaze follows Jisung’s finger, and true enough; against the stark blackness of the night’s sky, bright stars are sprinkled all over the firmament, some more prominent than others and twinkling without a care in the universe. Between light pollution and bad weather, it is close to a miracle they are able to witness this tonight, even with Minho’s flat close to the outskirts of the city.

Minho’s eyes fall on Jisung again. Beautiful Han Jisung who, even in obvious fatigue, has never looked more intriguing to Minho than in the pale moonlight. In his chest, Minho’s heart lurches at the sight – a familiar feeling whenever Minho sees Jisung, but the anxiety from a short while ago has not left, and together, they make for a very ill taste in his mouth.

Minho worries for Jisung – not just now, but always, and it comes as natural as breathing to him. It is not a common occurrence, though sometimes Minho believes the origins of that rest upon Jisung’s age. Those two years which separate them, Minho usually does not choose to care about – unless Jisung would look as he does in this very moment, like a puppy who has been abandoned by his family, all alone in the world and with nowhere to go. Only then does Minho notice just how _young_ Jisung is – perhaps not the youngest of their friend group, but young, nonetheless.

However, Minho cannot exactly present Jisung – or anyone else, for that matter – with any extraordinary life experience those two years of advance might have given him, either. Most of the time, they are the same age in Minho’s eyes.

Tonight, Minho feels a pang of protectiveness over Jisung.

“Let’s get you inside, Sungie,” he smiles at him, more insistent when Jisung does not avert his gaze from the sky, “We can stargaze from my room, if you like. Or sleep, ‘cause that’s also important.”

Jisung regards him minutely and grins, and for no more than a moment, he appears back to his normal, confident self when he replies cheekily, “The view’s so much better from here, though.”

Minho opens his mouth in response, yet does not get to say what he wishes to say. Because Jisung adds, in a quiet voice which would not have reached Minho’s ears were it not for the night’s overall hush, “And I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep, anyhow.”

Well, that settles it, then.

“I’ll be right back,” Minho promises and slides inside the apartment to retrieve a warm wool blanket. Jisung snorts when he sees Minho emerge with the large bundle of chaos in his arms (as Minho just snatched it from the sofa without folding it into a neat little pile first). As a sort of strange retaliation for the amused snort, Minho drops the whole of the blanket on Jisung’s head, at which the five-year-old child in Jisung simply giggles.

Minho is slightly embarrassed to note that it takes them almost three minutes to figure out their situation with the blanket. At first, Jisung keeps it all to himself, which leads to Minho grabbing at him until they practically wrestle for it. Admittedly, they are both childish people at times and pretend to forget the obvious possibility of sharing it – as Minho intended they do – all for the sake of a play fight. It is just so _them_ that it almost hurts.

And although the air feels a lot lighter than before, now that they have finally come around to sharing and Jisung’s head has fallen onto Minho’s shoulder, Minho cannot ignore the elephant in the room – or rather, on the balcony – forever.

“You said you had a nightmare,” he begins, slow and tentative. “What was it about?”

“It’s—it’s nothing, really. Stupid dream,” Jisung says, equally as hesitant.

“I’m sure it’s not stupid if it’s keeping you up like that,” Minho counters, a hand coming up to caress Jisung’s hair. As a sign of appreciation, Jisung hums.

“You know, you could’ve woken me up, too,” Minho goes on.

Jisung laughs softly. “Turns out I didn’t have to. Your _Jisung senses_ tingled, didn’t they?”

“I do not have _Jisung senses_ —”

“But if you _had_ —”

“They would _not_ have tingled,” Minho says decisively. But he does not fall for Jisung’s attempts at diversion. “So. It’s all right if you don’t want to talk about it, obviously. But you can, and frankly, I think you should. You could use some beauty sleep.”

“Excuse me?” Jisung raises his head from Minho’s shoulder and the fingers drawing circles in his hair still as the two friends look at each other, daring the other to break out into a grin first. Minho loses that battle by a long shot.

Feeling satisfied with his victory, Jisung’s head resumes its position on Minho’s shoulder. He gives a big sigh before he finally speaks, “You know how 3racha’s next gig is like, a _really_ big deal for us?”

Minho nods. Jisung has not been talking about anything else these past few weeks.

“Well. I dreamt that everything that could possibly go wrong _did_ go wrong. I forgot my lines, bumped into Chan every other second, everyone booed us off the stage. All of it was my fault, too. And everyone kind of just—just hated me for ruining one of our biggest chances at recognition. Chan and Changbinnie, of course, and everyone else, too. You especially. You looked so _crushed_. And for some reason… knowing I’d messed it all up after the hard work we put in and that I disappointed not only myself but the people I cared most about… it was _scary_ ,” Jisung confesses, voice trailing off into a whisper.

“ _Jisungie_ ,” Minho says with a desperate inflection, appalled at the audacity of Jisung’s mind to conjure such a horror scenario. “We would never make you feel like that, you know that, right?”

“Of course I know that. But dreams make it feel so real, no matter how absurd it might seem. I thought that I was suddenly left alone in the world and it was entirely my own fault because I didn’t prepare enough,” Jisung says. It all but breaks Minho’s heart into a million pieces to listen to the sad and hollow sound of Jisung’s words.

“It’s just—the three of us, we’ve been working so hard over the past three weeks and I was so proud of what we came up with for this specific gig. So I thought, all right, I haven’t seen my best friend in a while, I should take a break and call him—” (Minho smiles at the memory; Jisung had been so excited, he rambled into the phone the entire time, demanding they spend time together as soon as possible.) “—and I have a great time with you, as always, I don’t stress about the gig or my lines or whether I should change one thing or another, but I’m still so—so exhausted that I fall asleep halfway through the movie I was so looking forward to watching with you.”

“I didn’t mind,” Minho cuts in, no more than a soft mumble. His _Jisung senses_ are telling him that he is not finished yet, so Minho does not wish to scare him by speaking too loudly.

He does not, naturally. Jisung merely hums in acknowledgement, breathes in and out, and continues, “It’s stupid. One bad dream and I feel like all my confidence went up in flames.”

Silence crashes in like a wave to the shore. It is short-lived but impactful, as it gives way for Minho’s thoughts to come up with the perfect response.

“Do you remember the night we met? When you went up on stage and began to rap?”

Minho can remember it so clearly, so vividly – this one moment when Jisung had stepped onto the small stage at the karaoke bar and began to rap a verse from a song Minho did not know. The one moment that had Minho’s whole world turned upside down.

Jisung had performed it so flawlessly, it did not surprise Minho at all when Changbin and Chan told him that Jisung was the mysterious third member of their then freshly-formed rap group. Minho had barely even registered it; too intrigued was he by this charismatic man on stage, too enamored with the energy and devotion that Jisung poured into his craft.

Minho had instantly known that he was gone for this man; because while he admired Changbin and Chan for their own respective rapping skills, and had heard and seen them perform countless times, neither of them had ever captivated him as much as Jisung did.

No one ever can except for Han Jisung.

Minho says, “I didn’t know much about rapping at the time, but I’d seen Chan do it often enough to know that you were good. Like, really damn good. I could tell that you loved what you were doing, and I wanted to see more of you, just from this one performance.”

Jisung lifts his head to look at Minho, who mirrors the marveling gaze he receives with equal amounts of wonder.

“You’ve come a long way since then, Sungie,” Minho assures him, something in his throat making it impossible to speak above a whisper. “If the audience isn’t going to be half as impressed as I was when I first met you, they obviously don’t have any taste.”

And therein lies the crux of Minho’s problem; being impressed with Han Jisung from day one, halfway in love with him from day one and being subjected to those warm brown eyes Minho could get lost in forever. It is those eyes that, even in darkness, shine so brightly and which remind Minho that he is mind-blowingly discontent with the nature of their relationship – he, Lee Minho, loves him, Han Jisung, in the wonderfully painful romantic way, and he does not think he will be able to hold it in for much longer.

One night several months ago, their friend group had miraculously decided to watch a silly romantic comedy, complete with stupid misunderstandings between two very obviously infatuated people. At the end, when the two love interests had finally managed to sort out their communicational issues and gotten together, everyone but Jisung took it in stride. After all, there had been nothing special about this particular romantic comedy, it followed the universal formula of its movie genre as it was supposed to – the only thing that was so wrong about it was that, to Jisung, it had been one too many of its kind.

“I don’t understand why they can’t just talk to each other,” he had complained, then, “If I like someone, I tell them. If they reciprocate, great, we can start dating. If I get rejected, I can move on instead of asking myself for years and years whether they feel the same as I do.”

Minho had stayed quiet during Jisung’s ranting, pretending not to notice how all eyes had seemed to have fallen on him all of a sudden – everyone had already known the extent of Minho’s own feelings towards a certain someone, except for, of course, that certain someone himself. Hearing Jisung talk of telling someone he loved them as soon as he knew that he did, well – Jisung might as well have punched Minho in the gut, it would have hurt less.

The thing is, all Jisung really said was that he had not been in love with anyone at the time, or this specific person and their friend group would have had knowledge of it. He did not say, “I am not in love with Lee Minho,” but rather, “I am not in love with Lee Minho, perhaps I will be one day, but then, he will _know_.”

Minho feels weird thinking of it like that. He does not want to force himself to believe Jisung might fall in love with him one day or another, not when he does not have any right to command Jisung’s feelings like that.

So, whenever Minho believes to see love reflected in Jisung’s eyes, he has to look away from Jisung before he mistakes it for something which it is not. Whenever hugs linger, or kisses to the cheek are distributed, Minho delights in the affection behind those acts, though he never dares to read too much into them. With Jisung, who loves to attack any situation with hugs and kisses, it is the best course of action to keep Minho sane.

Now, on the balcony, at night, with Jisung – it is no different. He could face Jisung’s dumbstruck expression for no more than another second before he must avert his eyes to his plant in the corner.

So much for Minho’s usual gay confidence.

“Thank you, Minho,” Jisung says, and Minho does not even have to see to know there is a sincere smile on Jisung’s face. “I won’t disappoint you, I promise.”

Minho’s head whips around _fast_. “You could never disappoint me, Jisung.”

“I know,” Jisung adds. “I just. If I can make you happy with our performance, this gig will be a success whether the audience likes it or not.”

Minho’s mouth opens in surprise, but he does not say a word in reply. Jisung continues, undeterred by Minho’s transformation into a gaping fish, “Chan, Changbin and I love what we created. And if only one more person loves it, too, it’ll be enough, right?”

Minho, honest to God, does not really know what to answer, other than the low croak of, “right,” uttered in agreement. As he clears his throat, his arm snakes around Jisung’s neck to draw him in and Minho finally gathers enough of his wits to say, “Everyone is going to love 3racha, Jisungie. You’ll see, soon enough, the three of you will have to fend off groupies. Then I can tell everyone who’ll listen that _I knew 3racha when they were no more than hot sauce ready to be tasted_.”

As Jisung snorts at Minho’s very bad attempt at a joke, a light grin beginning to blossom on his face, and he asks, “Lee Minho, what would I do without you?”

Minho takes the opening presented to him and remarks, “You’d definitely die.”

Rising to defy all expectations Minho has of him, Jisung starts laughing as though he has not been sad mere moments prior. Minho, lost for anything else to do, is startled into joining him, and giggles even harder when Jisung replies, “I know _you_ would. You wouldn’t last a second without my charming presence and overwhelming good looks.”

Though he just shakes his head in response, refusing to look at what Minho knows would be a smug expression, Minho is inclined to agree with him – he would not last a second without Jisung by his side.

“Are you feeling better?” Minho asks him then, as their laughter subsides. To his immense relief, Jisung nods.

“Come on, then. Let’s get you inside.”

As Minho stands, blanket falling from his lap, he reaches out a hand for Jisung to take. When Minho hauls Jisung up, Minho finally notices just how tired he still is.

The blanket now lies half on the concrete ground of the balcony and half on the bench the two men have been sitting on, forgotten as Minho and Jisung go back into Minho’s bedroom.

Now, Minho has truly hoped they would actually sleep as soon as they hit the mattress. Jisung, however, seems to have other plans. Minho throws his head onto the pillow almost immediately, his cheeks squishing as he begins to snuggle into it, while Jisung – as expected – clings to Minho’s waist from the front as though _he_ were the pillow. At that point, Minho has a déjà-vu, when Jisung had done the same thing earlier – he was significantly more asleep then than he is now. And if they fell asleep like this, Minho would not mind – in fact, he would be glad for it, as exhausted as he is and knows Jisung has to be.

Unfortunately for Minho, he did not take the possibility of Jisung’s restlessness into account. Because with them being so close, Minho can feel every little movement Jisung makes in search for a comfortable sleeping position. Needless to say, after the third or fourth time a knee bumps into him, or the fifth time Jisung’s head knocks into Minho’s chin from below, Minho has had enough of the ceaseless shifting.

“What’s your problem?” Minho groans, refusing to open his eyes just yet in hopes of maybe catching some sleep before Jisung can answer him. For good measure, he throws his arm over his eyes and buries his face as far as he can into the pillow without suffocating himself. His prayers are not heard, and instead, Jisung begins poking his cheek to get his attention again. Minho thinks it might as well be karma.

“I still can’t sleep,” Jisung whines from somewhere above him.

Minho mumbles, “I’ve noticed,” and cracks one eye open to peer up at Jisung, who is indeed hovering right above him, propped up on his elbows. There is an expectant look on that squirrely face which Minho decides he had better be careful with. Though he regrets asking the question in the exact same instance he says it aloud, Minho queries, “What do you expect _me_ to do about that?”

He sees something sparkle in Jisung’s eyes – it reminds Minho of the familiar glint of mischief Jisung got every-so-often – and then, Jisung sits up, crosses his legs and demands, “Tell me a bedtime story.”

“It’s way _past_ your bedtime,” Minho says, laughing under his breath.

“Maybe because I didn’t get a story?” Jisung replies, and Minho guesses that Jisung probably thinks he is being witty about it.

Despite knowing it to be useless to even try, Minho asks Jisung, “Can’t you think of something yourself? Why do you need me telling it?”

Jisung regards him with a look of disbelief, as though it really should be obvious. “Between the two of us, _you’re_ the functional adult.”

“Oh and you’re a child, then?” Minho counters, one part perplexed and another distraught. Jisung has the decency to look appalled as well.

“No! I’m just the less functional adult. Two years younger and all that,” Jisung says, snapping his fingers as he comes up with, “Can’t cook as well as you can.”

“Since when do my superior cooking skills translate into me telling you bedtime stories?” Minho frowns. He drags himself upright now, facing Jisung but slumping in on himself again almost instantly. He rubs his hands over his eyes and hopes that maybe Jisung will take pity on him and let it go. In a last ditch effort, Minho proposes, “Can’t I cuddle you to sleep or something?”

Jisung smirks at him. “You can cuddle me _and_ tell me a story?”

Minho can only sigh at Jisung, but he beckons Jisung closer, anyway. Jisung, triumphant, does not waste a second. As Jisung plants his head in Minho’s lap, he murmurs, “Why do I even put up with you?”

The thing is, Minho does not expect an answer to his question, so when Jisung looks up at him with big eyes and a cheerful smile, proclaiming, “Because you love me,” Minho breaks out into a cold sweat. It is his luck, though, that Jisung does not appear to notice – he is far more concerned with other, more pressing matters; such as his bedtime story.

“So, what’ve you got in store for me?” Jisung asks and considering he is expecting a story from Minho, he sounds far too excited.

“Lower your expectations, please. I’m not exactly a storyteller,” Minho says, but of course, Jisung has a clever comeback for that, as well.

“You’re a dancer, Minho! That’s a form of storytelling, too.”

“Oh, so you want me to dance you to sleep?”

Jisung chortles, “No, I—”

“Well, why didn’t you just say so?” Minho pours every ounce of sarcasm in his body into his voice and revels in the giggle it elicits in Jisung. He grins down at him in return, “But anyway, if we’re relating our creative capabilities to storytelling, I should think a rapper wouldn’t be too horrible at it, either.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Jisung suddenly cries, “How about I start the story and you roll with it?” Minho rolls his eyes fondly, but Jisung’s pleading pout has him nod his assent. “Okay… Once upon a time, there was a _han_ dsome, talented, charming prince…”

Minho snorts. “All right. Once upon a time, there was a handsome, talented, _sometimes_ charming prince…”

_His name was Jisung, member of the well-known and renowned Han family. He was their second-eldest son and had therefore no claim to the throne, though he relished in the perks and privileges royal life allowed him, nonetheless. At court, he was always seen dressed only in the finest of garments, custom-fitted and exclusive pieces the royal dressmaker made just for him. He was quite popular with all the folk at court, swaying both the handmaidens as well as the visiting dukes and duchesses with his infamous charm._

_Rarely was he without one of his closest friends: Lee Minho, crown prince of the neighboring kingdom._

(“Why are you a crown prince?”

“Because I don’t have any siblings?”

“That seems unfair.”

“Not my fault you have an older brother.”

“Yeah, well, you could’ve ignored him for the sake of this story.”

“Whoopsie, I guess it’s too late for that now! Anyhow…”)

_Lee Minho was two years older than the prince, though even as children when their first meeting occurred, the two boys did not care for the difference in age – in spirit, they found they were rather well-matched. Although it did not appear so from the outsider’s point of view, they had been adventurous young boys, growing up together in an estate in the country. Minho, as crown prince, was specially educated to prepare for his ascension to the throne once he would be of age, and despite his teachers’ explicit wishes of the opposite, he would always have Jisung join his lessons._

_Every time, this ended with them storming out of the room and forgetting all of their good manners as they roamed the wide, open space of the gardens, and chased each other through the mazes. Whenever one was scared to do something, the other would never stray too far from his side, making sure that both of them felt secure and comfortable and most importantly: in good company. Minho, for example, had a very strong fear of heights, which is why the tree climbing Jisung often undertook became a tough challenge for the boy. Jisung, on the other hand, had a fear of, well, everything_ (“Hey!”) _, and so, as a result, Minho made certain to look out for him as best as his schedule would allow._

_As they grew out of their wild youth and became somewhat responsible young men, they were grateful that fate had decided not to tear them apart just yet. They still shared many lessons, though these days, they were for purposes of leisure, as either man was quite gifted at music. They sang and danced together, harmonizing perfectly, so in tune with each other that it translated into their everyday royal life._

(“Aw. Why don’t we sing together like that, too?”

“Stop interrupting!”)

_But unfortunately, they could not spend their days in peace forever. Duty would call on both of them before they knew it, and soon, Minho had to take over his mother’s throne after her tragic and untimely death. As second-born, Jisung did not have any such obligations, but was greatly deterred by the loss of his best friend to his new, important governing business. Before long, the days of the prince were dull and boring, light seemed to dim and colors seemed to mute, and all the joy faded from the prince’s life._

(“You’re being so dramatic! You make it sound like I don’t have any other friends.”

“…”

“…”

“Ow! Leave the plushie out of this!”)

_For all that Prince Jisung now tried to entertain himself with his other friends at court, he found no one could compare to the company of his best friend. Of course, he had to get used to it, and when his parents began to fill his head with the prospects of marriage, Jisung had other worries to occupy his mind. In his letters to Minho – their main form of communication, now that Minho was far out of reach for proper conversations – Jisung complained about the matches his parents presented him with, swearing up and down that they might have been very nice people, but that Jisung felt something had been so off about them that he could not stand the idea of marrying any of them._

_It had to be somebody of importance, too; his parents were very intent on making this clear whenever the matter came up, and it narrowed down the pool of possible partners – whom Jisung might maybe, perhaps, eventually have been amenable to marrying – greatly. After all, an heir of the Han family could not just marry anyone. However, no matter how much Jisung protested, his parents’ minds could not be changed._

_So, naturally, they threw a ball._ (“A ball! In my honor! How nice!”)

_Everyone, even the kings and queens from faraway countries, had been invited to what would later be described as the event of the century. All of them were expected to arrive with marriageable offspring, which Jisung did not particularly care for, though for the sake of his parents, he would attempt his best to look forward to the festivities._

_The fact that one King Minho would make special attendance made that a lot easier on the prince._

(“What?” asks Minho, as a strange expression appears on Jisung’s smiling face.

“Nothing,” Jisung counters, smile widening but voice growing softer. “Just looking forward to the festivities.”)

_As the day of the ball approached fast, Jisung found it harder and harder to keep his elation and excitement at bay. Minho had promised to arrive a day before all the others, to make up for the many months they had by then spent apart. Of course, a day was hardly worth an abundance of them, but after months of separation, they keenly missed the other and were glad to have time to themselves at all._

_King Minho and his entourage’s arrival was made a spectacle in and of itself – Prince Jisung’s parents paid all their respects with grand gestures of praise and admiration, and as crown prince, so did Jisung’s elder brother. When it finally came to be his turn in the greeting of the fair and just king, the prince grinned his best grin, bowed and said, “Your Majesty.”_

_“My prince,” said the king in return. The seriousness with which his entire family had treated this occasion, oh – for the prince it flew right out of the window as soon as he locked eyes with his best friend, and fortunately, the same could be said for the king. They embraced each other with as much heart as they could muster up, laughing as they did so. Neither of them could have ever been happier than in this very moment._

_“I missed you so much,” one said, or maybe it was the other, though with their arms around another, they were far from caring, anyhow._

_And with their reunion, eternal fortune was bestowed upon them by the gods. Everyone lived happily ever after._

_The End._

As Minho finishes his story, the silence suddenly grows heavy in the small room, and Minho gets the sense that it is all his fault.

Jisung opens his mouth and looks at him funny, saying, “What.”

“What?” Minho asks. “Storytime’s over.”

“No, it’s not,” Jisung protests, scrambling to sit up to stare at Minho in—in _outrage_. Which is a complete overreaction in Minho’s book. “That’s a stupid ending.”

“Well, that’s the ending you get,” Minho remarks, though snark sneaks into his voice before he can stop it. He is thoroughly aware that the way his story ended so abruptly is cause for suspicion, but the thing is, Minho has already said _too much_. The story was going to run away from him if he continued, _had_ already run away from him as soon as he introduced the idea of the prince – of _Jisung_ – looking for someone to marry. What was he going to do, invent someone with whom Jisung would fall madly in love with? Now that would have been an ending Minho could not have told. It would be too close to the reality Minho dreads every day, however selfish he feels doing so.

There is only one version of the story Minho would have loved to tell – which, coincidental or not, is the one he is unable to share. And Jisung, being Jisung, does not let it go so easily.

“What is it with you lately?” Jisung wonders, eyebrows knitting together in an intense frown. Minho stiffens. “Whenever I talk to you, you get this… this look on your face like you wanna tell me something. But then you don’t, and I can’t figure out why.”

In the split-second Jisung allows him to react, Minho throws out a useless, “you’re seeing things,” and lies down, facing away from Jisung – which he knows to be the least subtle response to Jisung’s accusations that he could have possibly come up with, but Minho has been thrust into panic mode from one moment to the next and his mind blanks and he just—just does not _care_. All he wants is not to look at Jisung at the moment, or else Jisung might read Minho’s biggest secret right off his face, too.

He feels the mattress dip next to him and just _knows_ how Jisung is boring holes into the back of his neck. Minho screws his eyes shut, as if that could somehow make it all go away.

“Minho.”

Minho tries to even out his breath, make it go quieter and quieter, or maybe just stop breathing at all; that would solve a number of his problems. Or all of them.

“ _Minho_.”

Minho notes that Jisung is not making any moves to touch him. This has Minho thinking that this time, Jisung might leave him be if he can keep ignoring him long enough, though a significantly louder part of his brain reprimands him for even considering it.

“Something isn’t right,” says Jisung. “Tell me, Minho, please.”

Against his better judgment, Minho turns around to face Jisung, startling back when he realizes how close he has gotten. They still do not touch.

“Don’t worry, Sungie. I’m tired, is all,” Minho whispers into the small space between them. He can see it written all over Jisung’s face that he does not believe Minho, although that would have been too good to be true, anyway.

“You called me your prince,” Jisung tells him, seemingly apropos of nothing and gentler than Minho has ever heard him. Minho’s heartbeat picks up. “And we were going to go on a ball, hyung! I was so excited to see what was going to happen.” Minho huffs a smile at Jisung’s unfiltered, albeit muted glee, but stays quiet himself.

“Mind if I—if I finish it? Your story?” Jisung goes on to ask, stealing Minho’s ability to speak in the process. He is nervous, all of a sudden – more nervous than he already has been, mostly because he cannot imagine what Jisung’s motifs are, or where he is going with this. What makes Minho shake his head, in spite of his overall cluelessness, is beyond him. Perhaps he has lost his mind, but how would he even be able to tell?

To his surprise, Jisung releases a shaky breath, almost as if in relief, and Minho feels the warm air grate his cheek. “Okay,” Jisung begins in a voice rough with something that has not been there before, something he attempts to get rid of by clearing his throat. He appears to take another moment of consideration before he finally speaks on.

“So. The prince and the king reunite. And you’re right, they missed each other so much, the day they had was hardly enough.” Jisung pauses, humming in thought. “You know. I’m sure the prince felt like I felt when you were gone for 3 months for that dance program over the summer last year. I mean. I was really happy for you and so proud of you for getting in, but I missed you like crazy, too. Just ask Chan, I was whining about it the whole summer.

“But when you came back… when the king came back, everything finally fell back into place, right? In the way that it was supposed to.”

Minho remembers. This dance program had been tough to get into, as only ten out of hundreds of applicants would be considered; he had recorded and scrapped so many of his dances before letting his friends decide which one was the best. To Minho’s sheer, dumb luck (“Talent, you mean?” Woojin had said, like the proud father he was.), he had been selected to take part in the summer program. He had been elated, opportunities like this one did not usually come knocking on your door, after all, though when the realization set in that he would be gone for three whole months, it put a damper on his mood.

Everyone cheered him on, of course, up to the point where the eight of them accompanied Minho to the train station, hugging him one after the other; Woojin and Chan both told him how proud they were, and Minho thought he had even seen a tear spring from Chan’s eye before he turned away. Felix, who had been openly crying, and Changbin, who had taken to consoling the poor boy, gave him a brief hug and, as Minho would have to go for three months without pestering Changbin, Minho ruffled his hair, smirking while tears welled up in his eyes. Hyunjin had to prevent Seungmin from squishing Jeongin’s cheek yet _another_ time, just so they could be embraced by their hyung. Hyunjin – who had given the deciding vote on which tape Minho should send in – engulfed him in his arms and demanded he did his best.

Jisung had watched it all happen with big, round eyes until it was his turn, had even remarked, “Saving the best for last, huh?”

But Minho had already been crying and so had Jisung, so their goodbye was, in three words, a righteous mess.

Jisung face-timed him nearly every evening. Minho texted him all throughout the day, in-between lessons. Really, what drained them the most was not being able to touch each other, as this was the only variable that had changed.

They crushed each other half to death when Minho had come back. And yes, everything _had_ fallen back into place. Back then, Minho had been so overwhelmed by his emotions, he was this close to kissing Jisung. ( _The king was, too._ )

“Anyway,” Jisung’s voice breaks him from his reverie, “the ball. Of course, the prince told the king all about the expected guests and how much he loathed to meet any of them, simply for the occasion of getting him married already. Because normally, the prince would not mind it at all to talk to people, or to have a fun evening of laughter and dancing. But on the night of the ball, they would only watch him, full of expectation and wonder at who could be the lucky one. He feared he might not have one moment’s pause from the hubbub around his person.

“So, naturally, the king offered to remain by his side, both to fend off unwanted suitors as well as those sticking their noses into business not their own. And you know what the prince replied?” Jisung asks. And then he does something very unexpected.

He stands. Walks over to Minho’s side of the bed.

Reaches out his hand and says, “ _Only if I get to dance with you_.”

Minho blinks up at him in confusion. “Are you serious?”

Jisung grins, but its edges are easy. “Let’s make this story an interactive one, shall we?”

As Jisung pulls him up, drawing him close, Minho grows breathless from nothing and tells him quietly, “It’s the middle of the night, Jisung. And we don’t have any music.”

“I don’t care,” Jisung replies, solemn and resolute, raising an eyebrow at Minho. “Do you?”

“No.”

So they dance. Minho holding Jisung’s hand and waist, Jisung’s hand on his shoulder. Swirling around in very, very small circles because Minho’s bedroom does not have the space for much more.

Minho does not know for how long they do. Or why, for that matter – minutes ago, Minho had been so annoyed with Jisung shifting around instead of sleeping, now he is dancing with him, for heaven’s sake! And in his pajamas, too. He cannot find it in himself to be mad about that, though.

He thinks that there is no one else in the whole world – in the whole damn universe! – he would rather be doing this with.

At some point, Minho rests his chin on Jisung’s shoulder so they are cheek to cheek and closes his eyes, breathing in deep as he lets himself enjoy the warmth of their closeness. Jisung’s voice rumbles against his ear as he continues the story.

“The king and the prince did spend the majority of the night dancing together, and all the other guests kept marveling at the couple and just how well-matched they were. Of course, they thought that the prince had chosen his partner,” Jisung trails off into a whisper. They stop swaying.

Minho cannot believe his ears. How can Jisung speak so boldly of something Minho does not even dare to dream about? Oh, perhaps he _is_ dreaming, perhaps he did fall asleep as he wished to, and all of this is merely a perfectly painted picture of his imagination!

He decides to test his theory, draws back and looks into Jisung’s eyes. They are close—they are so very _close_ , almost nose to nose, barely a breath’s width apart. Where Minho finds the strength to utter a single word, never mind a whole question, he does not know.

“And did he choose his partner?”

Minho watches Jisung’s eyes widen, as if he did not expect to be asked. His breath hitches, but Jisung somehow manages not to let it show in his voice, “Yes,” he says, and – _yes_ , Minho must definitely be making this up in his head. “After months of separation, the prince had realized—no, _I_ have realized that… I am most certainly in love with my best friend and that I don’t want anyone else.”

Minho’s mind short-circuits, all he can do is stare at Jisung in shock, probably gaping like a fish who is also having trouble breathing the air and suffocates. “Jisung…” he may or may not have said somewhere between then and now, so low and with a crack of his voice that it might as well have been counted as non-existent. His heart is aching, too, both from trying to hammer its way out of Minho’s ribcage and the indescribable joy at hearing those words leave Jisung’s mouth.

This is all Minho has been craving for years, so why is he not able to tell Jisung as much?

Minho sees hesitation in Jisung’s expression, then regret and sadness. Still, Jisung does not move away but instead, he awaits his trial like the brave man that he is. Braver than Minho ever could be.

“Look, it’s—it’s your story, so. I don’t know how the king might, uh. React. To what I just said.”

The fragile nature and the wavering of Jisung’s voice alert Minho, causing him to finally spring into action. The key word being _action_ , rather than words.

His hands shake a little as Minho lifts them to Jisung’s cheek, gently pulling Jisung even closer until their foreheads touch. Jisung’s eyes have closed and he sighs, and if Minho does not know any better, he may even say it sounds relieved.

“Can I kiss you?” Minho hears himself murmur before not a millisecond later, Jisung’s lips are on his, and an eternal question gets its final answer at long last. As they kiss, Jisung throws his arms around Minho’s neck, and fondness loosens in his chest, making Minho smile against Jisung’s mouth involuntarily. It makes Jisung laugh and kissing more difficult, but they chase after each other like they are already addicted to the taste of the other’s lips.

 _God_ , Minho loves this man so much. How has it escaped his notice that Jisung is in love with him, too?

“You have—” Minho says, “no idea—” in-between kisses, “how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“I think I do,” Jisung smiles softly, slightly out of breath, before planting another chaste kiss on the corner of Minho’s mouth.

Minho is going to melt into the floor, what with the way Jisung now looks at him, all happy and with a blinding smile, bright even in the darkness of Minho’s bedroom.

“Is this… what you couldn’t tell me?” Jisung asks. Minho averts his eyes in shame as he nods, cheeks blooming with color – though thankfully, the dark hides it very well, or else Minho might be getting teased for it.

“Well,” Minho begins, “You didn’t tell me, either. Which is confusing, because you said once that you wouldn’t wanna waste any time before letting someone know how you felt.”

A bold statement, considering it is coming from someone who has not said the infamous words himself – and considering that it was Jisung who did have the courage to confess first.

“It’s different with you. You are the most important person in my life, Minho. I couldn’t risk losing you and what we have.”

Minho shakes his head fervently, speaking in a volume much louder than their previously hushed voices, “I love you, Jisung,” _ah, there it is_ , “in whatever way you’ll have me, really. You won’t get rid of me that easily, I can promise you that. There’s no one else for me, either.”

As Jisung just grins and dives in to kiss Minho again, and Minho’s arm circles his waist, Minho wonders how he survived all of these years of knowing Jisung when they did not come with the additional benefit of kissing the living daylights out of his best friend – or of having the living daylights kissed out of him, which is _even better_.

“I love you, too, Minho,” Jisung murmurs into his ear and pulls away, biting his lip, seeming nervous all of a sudden. To calm his nerves, one of Minho’s hands comes up to Jisung’s cheek again, his thumb stroking over the soft skin. The gesture feels far more intimate now than it ever has before, but it appears to do a wonderful job at soothing Jisung.

“I know I’ve probably already told you this before but… I love your smile,” Jisung tells him, making a broad smile blossom on Minho’s face. “Yes, this one! And your eyes… they sparkle, like, _all the damn time_ , did you know that? It can be so distracting!”

“You’re one to talk, squirrel!” Minho replies with a flustered laugh. “I’ve spent the better part of the last months trying not to get distracted by your stupid, beautiful face. Which is hard, because I like looking at your face.”

Jisung smirks, leaning forward to nuzzle Minho’s cheek with his nose. “My stupid, _beautiful_ face, huh?” He sing-songs. “Is that why you nearly walked into a pole last week when we were getting lunch?”

“No—”

“Because you got distracted by how handsome I am?”

“You know what, I changed my mind, I don’t love you anymore.”

“But _Minmin~_ …”

“And now I am going to sleep, you can take the couch, try not to wake my cats whom I love more than I love you.”

“…But you _do_ love me?”

“… Just—ugh.”

Needless to say, Minho loves him far too much to let him sleep anywhere else than beside him, and finally, after hours and hours of restlessness, they fall into a blissful, long-awaited slumber.

And – how could it be any different? – in each other’s arms, too.

**Author's Note:**

> i am whipped for lee minho i hope i could get that point across
> 
> also!!! if you stuck around until now, why don’t you leave a kudo and a comment telling me what you thought? it doesn’t matter how long ago this fic was published, if you read and enjoyed it, it would be lovely to hear from you, however short your comment may be!! writers live off interacting with people who like their work, so be nice to your fic writers!! <3 thank you for reading!!!!


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